Kintsukuroi

The fact that nobody is perfect is as old an a stale bread on which molds of indifference have grown. If we were to meet each other, and if we were to become friends, may be even lovers at some point of time, I wouldn't console you by saying how your perfections are perfect to me. I wouldn't lecture you on our imperfections complementing each other. For me, your imperfections will be interesting. Discovering them will be like reveling in the glory of discovering long lost treasure. Knowing that you too have suffered, may be not in the  same way as I have and that you too have scars will not make me afraid of showing you mine. All the wounds, rotting flesh, healed scabs and raw pink skin, everything will be the places we go on dates. We will talk and talk till our mouths go dry and we are short of breath. You wouldn't think I'm ugly because I have scars. I wouldn't think you're an outcast because of your injuries. My fingers will tread upon your sutures, your eyes will travel over my hellholes. In knowing that we both have suffered, we will both be erroneous, slightly out of place and unique. And that is how two very imperfect people will leak into each other, melt into each other. That is how we will live again, become human beings again, in all our mistakes and failings.